I work my mouth into a smile. “Always.”
My dad must have given the nod, since a hand clinches my elbow. I say goodbye to my mom then allow myself to be guided through the house. I don’t see my brother anywhere, but chances are he’s been ordered to stay behind a closed door. He’s much better at obeying than I am.
I’m push-walked out the front door. It’s a cool night. The wet ocean air whips and curls around my face, and I take my final breaths of it, knowing that I’ll be in the desert soon. My dad leads us to the open double doors of a black van. Once there, a hand from behind puts pressure on my head, trying to get me to duck and climb in.
I force my spine straight so they can’t fold me into the van. “Sir, one thing before I go?”
My dad looks down at me through narrowed eyes. “What is it? You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”
I step close, grateful that my last growth spurt put me just a few inches shorter than him. “I just want to say…” With a quick step back for momentum, I slam my forehead into his nose. Stars dance behind my eyes.
He doubles over with a howl, putting his hands to his face. Blood pours through his fingers.
A smile curls my lips. Damn, that felt good. The quick high dissolves as I’m pulled back and shoved face first to the concrete driveway. The rough soles of combat boots press into my back and hold me down, crushing my ribs.
My dad groans and stumbles on his feet. “Hold him up, boys.” His pained grunt makes whatever’s about to happen totally worth it.
I’m hauled up by my T-shirt and shoved forward.
His face is red, colored by fury and blood, and inches from mine. “’Bout time I taught you a lesson.” Standing back, he raises his fist.
Knowing the unavoidable is on its way, I decide to leave him with a parting thought. “Fuck you, Dad.”
Pain explodes in my jaw. The world spins and goes black.
One
Thirteen years later…
Blake
“I’d like to make a toast.” I’m drunk as hell, feeling zero pain. The club’s crowded and humming with energy, just like every other club in town tonight.
It’s New Year’s Eve in Las-motherfucking-Vegas.
I climb my barstool and stagger-stand on the bar. So ready to put this fucked up year behind me, I check the countdown clock—fifty-two minutes. I raise my glass, and the crowd below cheers.
Yeah, bitches. You all love my ass.
“Here’s to a new year. May it be filled with knockout punches in the octagon.” I lock eyes with two chicks at my feet. They’ve been hanging on me all night, rubbing me ready and begging for it. I wink. “And knockout babes in your bed.” I squint into the crowd, looking for the band, and find them huddled next to the stage. “And cheers to my boy, Rex.” Holding my drink high, I motion to his band, Ataxia. “Make rock and roll history, brother.” With one last thrust of my glass into the air, I toss back two fingers of whiskey and savor the burn.
Everyone in the club follows suit, finishing in a symphony of hollered agreement. I hop off the bar and into the tentacle arms of my admirers.
“Great toast, baby,” the platinum-haired beauty to my right says as she rubs her body against mine.
I bend down, sliding my tongue into her eager mouth and grabbing a fistful of her ass. Nothing gets a second girl’s interest like pure, hot, jealousy. And sure ’nuff, her friend presses herself to my side and slides her hand down my stomach to the waistband of my pants.
I’m numb and can’t taste or feel much. But my dick roars to life, searching for somewhere hot and wet. It’s not even midnight yet, and I’m trashed. If I don’t get these girls home and naked soon, I may pass out before getting laid.
“Dude, get a room. Or at least find a dark corner.”
I pull back from my blurry make-out session and focus my drunken gaze on Caleb and the new guy—what’s his name? Caleb invited him out tonight. He moved here from a beach town, and being a transplant, he had nowhere to ring in the New Year. He’s supposed to be the next hot-shit UFL fighter. Looks like a lifeguard from Baywatch to me.
“You assholes jealous?” I tuck a girl under each arm and lean against the bar.
The guys laugh, but I don’t miss the flash of envy in their eyes.
Rex and his drummer, Talon, show up with a few girls in tow. They’re all hot, dressed in barely-there clothes for easy access, and asking all sorts of naughty questions with their eyes.
One of the many things I love about Vegas is that there’s no shortage of women who’re looking for the no-strings kind of hook-ups I’m all about.
Fuck, I love my life.
“Great set, T-Rex,” I say, and mean it.
Ataxia is the perfect combination of old school and melodic punk rock. And Rex, that fucker can write a song.